Chapter 66: Pandora

Chapter 66: Pandora

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Pandora was once an ordinary person, no different from anyone else. The only thing special about her was that the box opened in her hand. It was a moment of curiosity, a fleeting second that altered her fate forever. Because of this, she was cursed—a punishment that bound her in an endless loop of existence. She could not die, nor could she truly live. This was the curse of immortality.

Though her body remained unscathed by time, her soul suffered. She could still breathe, still feel every sensation, every emotion, every ounce of pain. There was no release, no end to the torment. She had been wandering through the ages, carrying the weight of her mistake, and as the years stretched into centuries, she came to accept her suffering as something she could never escape.

Meanwhile, Dean stood before her, gripping the Dim Changhong Sword tightly in his hands. As the sword gleamed with a pale white light, he executed an Iai Slash, severing the invisible telekinetic force restraining him. The pressure that had been locking his limbs instantly dissipated, and in the next moment, he launched into a dazzling display of swordsmanship—a dance of blades that cut through the very air itself.

Pandora's eyes widened in disbelief. Telekinesis was intangible—formless, weightless, beyond the reach of any physical force. How could an ordinary sword, wielded by a mere human, slice through something that wasn't even there?

Dean moved effortlessly, wielding the Changhong Sword with an ease that suggested years of training. His footwork was light, his strikes precise. Each movement had purpose, each swing of the blade was executed with unwavering confidence. It was as if the sword itself was alive, responding to his will with perfect synchronicity.

"I'm guessing you don't understand," Dean remarked, his voice steady even as he continued his rapid movements. "There's something called sword intent. No matter how mysterious telekinesis may be, it's still a power of the mind. That means it can be cut—if your spirit is sharp enough."

Pandora barely had time to process what he was saying before Dean continued, his grip on the sword tightening.

"And in case you haven't figured it out yet, the Changhong Sword isn't just some ordinary piece of metal. For a true swordsman, this sword is more valuable than any so-called artifact."

One of the Changhong Sword's special effects was [Sword Heart Illumination], which greatly enhanced the user's proficiency in all sword techniques. It amplified the power of every sword-based move, making the wielder's attacks sharper, deadlier, and far more effective than any standard weapon.

A good swordsman can train himself, but a great sword can train a swordsman.

Dean had always preferred using swords. The Changhong Sword suited him perfectly—it was righteous, powerful, and just. In a way, it aligned with his own ideals as a law enforcer.

The fact that he was able to wield a thirty-kilogram blade with such speed and finesse was thanks to his [Humanoid Pokémon] title. As a hybrid between human and Pokémon, Dean's physical attributes adapted and grew stronger with experience. His stats—his speed, his strength, his endurance—all increased the more he fought.

The wooden sword Hoshikudaki had already granted him the combat knowledge of Shiro Yaksha, and combined with the battles he had endured in the past half-month, he had improved significantly. If Dean's growth were measured in levels, he would be at least Level 40 by now.

Pandora could sense the shift in power, and it put her on edge. This was unlike anything she had ever seen.

Seeing him complete three consecutive sword dances in a flash, she instinctively braced herself. The danger he posed had skyrocketed.

The way he cut through telekinesis with sword intent alone was unheard of.

When Pandora had first observed Dean, she made assumptions. She knew he had given away Hoshikudaki, and with only the Omnitrix left as his primary tool, she believed she had the upper hand.

Her plan was simple: persuade him first, use force if necessary. If he refused to cooperate, she would overpower him, force him to transform, and then hand him the magic box.

But Pandora had gravely miscalculated.

Despite living for thousands of years, she was still just a woman who had been deceived for thousands of years. Time had failed to grant her the wisdom to see through illusions.

Even Damian had seen through Dean's nature more clearly than she had.

Dean was a Sleeper-build.

Whether it was a result of his Chinese heritage—his people's tendency to store strength and strike at the perfect moment—or whether it was something he had learned from working with Batman, Dean had mastered the art of hiding his true power.

To outsiders, Dean appeared ordinary.

He seemed strong, but not overwhelmingly so. His battles had always been within reasonable limits, never drawing too much attention. Most observers believed that without his Omnitrix, he wasn't much of a threat.

But there was one person who had never been fooled.

Batman.

Unlike everyone else, Batman had recognized Dean's potential from the very beginning. He had watched him carefully, wary of what he might become. Because in Batman's eyes, Dean's most dangerous ability wasn't his Omnitrix, or his swordsmanship, or his physical strength.

It was his unpredictability.

Somewhere else in Gotham, far from their confrontation, a small shop owner was preparing for the biggest sale of his career.

It was Sunday.

The owner of Thompson's store had been waiting for this moment all week. With Penguin's recent decision to loosen his control over Gotham's black-market arms trade, small-time dealers were finally able to operate freely.

Thompson had spent months stockpiling his inventory, preparing for this day.

Now, standing in the dimly lit basement of his shop, he surveyed his merchandise with pride.

Ten crates of high-quality firearms, all unregistered, all ready to be sold.

Beside him, his latest customer, John, looked around the room in awe.

"John, take a good look," Thompson said, grinning. "I have everything you could possibly want. Take your time—pick whatever you like."

John hesitated, frowning slightly.

"Uh… boss? Why are the guns… floating?"

"What? What the hell are you talking about?"

Thompson turned around, eyes widening in shock.

The guns weren't just floating. They were flying. One by one, the firearms lifted themselves out of the crates, moving as if guided by invisible hands.

They shot through the air in perfect formation, whizzing past his face like a flock of birds. Within seconds, the entire underground storage room was completely empty.

Meanwhile, back in the deserted alleyway, Dean stood face-to-face with Pandora, unshaken by the confrontation.

He wasn't rushing to attack, he didn't need to. If he struck too soon, Pandora would realize she was at a disadvantage. She would escape before he could finish the fight.

That was something he couldn't allow.

"Invisibility, telekinesis… If I had to guess," Dean said calmly, his gaze never leaving her, "the two talismans you're carrying must be the Snake and Rooster."

Those two abilities were perfect for running away.

Pandora, however, remained composed.

"You certainly know a lot about the talismans. But so what? I've been using them for over a thousand years. I know exactly how they work—and more importantly, I know their weaknesses."

Her lips curled into a small smirk.

"I won't make the mistake of getting too close to you. But I won't let you walk away, either."

Dean's eyes darkened as he gripped his sword.

He was done listening.

"Enough talk."

He fired a shot at Pandora, watching as the bullet was instantly deflected by her mental shield.

The attack seemed meaningless. But Dean had already gotten what he wanted.

"Shut up," he muttered.

"Stop talking about 'saving the world.' If humanity needs to be saved by a box, then humanity doesn't deserve saving."

Dean despised Pandora. He didn't just dislike her—he genuinely hated her. Even if she had been manipulated by the gods, even if she was nothing more than a pawn in their grand design, it didn't excuse her weakness. She blamed seven monsters for the ugliness of humanity, for all the terrible things humans had done throughout history, refusing to believe that people had the strength to overcome their own flaws.

And yet, despite her supposed wisdom, she still failed to see the truth.

"In the long history of mankind, there have been a few victories," she said, her voice cold and unyielding, "but far more often, there has been destruction."

She raised her palm, pressing down as though to command the very air itself.

Immediately, hundreds of guns hovered around Dean, forming a deadly circle around him. Each firearm, suspended in midair by telekinesis, had its barrel pointed directly at him. They were so tightly packed that the only gap left was the small opening where Pandora stood, her cold eyes locked onto Dean's.

"Now do you understand?" Pandora continued. "Even with all this power, I still can't eliminate original sin. If I can't do it, how can humanity? The only answer is the box. Only the box can cleanse this world."

With hundreds of guns aimed at his head, most people would have been paralyzed with fear, but Dean? He didn't even flinch.

Instead, he spoke calmly, as if he hadn't even noticed the army of firearms surrounding him.

"You know, Pandora, if you had approached me this morning, I might not have had the patience to entertain your nonsense," Dean admitted. "But my mentality has changed. I've decided to enter the game myself, to step into the arena—not as an observer, but as a player."

He met her gaze steadily.

"So before I bring you down, let me ask you one last thing. In all your thousands of years of existence—your long, empty, and frankly meaningless life—have you ever truly paid attention? Have the number of humans, human life span, and human civilization been improving… or declining?"

For the first time, Pandora was silent.

She knew the answer. She had seen it with her own eyes, lived through it, experienced it firsthand. And yet, she refused to admit it.

She had spent so long believing that humanity was beyond saving, that their sins were irreversible, that without the box, the world could never be pure again. If she admitted she was wrong, what would that mean for the thousands of years she had wasted?

She didn't want to answer. She couldn't answer. Seeing her hesitation, Dean relaxed his grip on the Changhong Sword, making a slight movement as if preparing to put it away.

But Pandora misunderstood. She thought he was about to attack.

Her reaction was instant. A surge of telekinetic energy pulsed from her hands, and suddenly, all the triggers of the hovering guns snapped back simultaneously.

"Don't move!" she warned, her voice sharp. "I'm telling you, if you even try anything, I guarantee these bullets will turn you into Swiss cheese before you can blink."

Dean sighed, raising his head slightly.

"You still don't get it, do you?" he muttered. "Pandora, do I need to remind you about Batman's sonar surveillance system?"

Her expression flickered.

"All sound in Gotham is visible to the ears of the bat—especially gunfire."

As if on cue, a sudden whooshing sound came from above.

Pandora's eyes widened.

Before she could react, a petite but incredibly strong figure descended from the sky, his black cape billowing behind him like the wings of a hawk.

Damian Wayne.

The young Robin had been waiting for his moment to strike.

Using his cloak to adjust his trajectory, he descended at full speed, knees aimed directly at Pandora's skull.

CRACK!

The force of his flying knee strike landed squarely against the side of her head, sending her staggering backward.

The blow was so hard that her concentration snapped, and in an instant, her telekinetic grip weakened.

Hundreds of firearms clattered to the ground, some even firing off stray bullets as they landed.

Dean, already prepared for this, stepped forward with lightning-fast reflexes, blocking the rogue shots with his sword as he sprinted across the sea of fallen weapons.

In just a few seconds, he reached Damian, who had already pinned Pandora to the ground.

"The thing about telekinesis," Dean said, crouching down next to them, "is that it's both a strength and a weakness."

Pandora groaned, trying to recover from Damian's brutal strike, but Dean lifted her chin with two fingers, forcing her to look directly at him.

"The power moves with your mind, but that's also your downfall. Unlike solid objects, telekinesis is only as strong as the user's focus."

He smirked.

"In front of all these guns, I really didn't stand a chance, did I?" he mused. "And that's exactly why you got careless, Pandora. You thought you'd already won."

Pandora glared at him furiously before spitting in his direction.

Dean dodged effortlessly.

"Sneak attacks? Calling for backup? How is this fair?" she snapped. "And you—you use a sword! The sword is supposed to be a gentleman's weapon! But you? You're a villain!"

Dean stared at her for a moment before chuckling.

"I'm just showing you how humans actually survive," he said, standing up. "When we can't win alone, we work together. When a fight is too big for one, we form alliances. And when a threat is too great for one group, we build civilizations."

Pandora, along with two other sinners, was part of the so-called "Three Body Original Sin."

But unlike the concept in the world of the same name, she didn't understand the truth.

Civilization wasn't something that could be measured in a few short centuries.

"Pandora," Dean continued, "you've lived for over a thousand years, and yet you think that makes you wise? You're wrong."

He lifted his sword, driving its blade into the eye socket of the golden skull.

"You don't give a civilization just time. You give it generations."

The moment the magic box was wrenched from its resting place, Pandora laughed bitterly.

"No one can resist the temptation of the box," she murmured. "Sooner or later, you'll open it."

As soon as she spoke, the box vanished from sight.

Pandora's eyes widened.

"What—?"

Dean smirked and glanced at his inventory screen. The magic box was now safely stored inside.

"I didn't resist," he said simply. "I just avoided the problem altogether."

Pandora gritted her teeth in frustration.

She was losing control.

"I arrived as soon as I detected gunfire," Damian said, crossing his arms. His tone was sharp.

Dean rolled his eyes.

"Detected gunfire?" Who was he kidding? Dean knew exactly why Damian had shown up so fast. This wasn't about "rescue."

This was about taking credit.

Damian wanted the glory.

But Dean didn't mind. Because as far as he was concerned…

The real prize was already his. He reached down, slipping his hand into Pandora's chest.

His fingers closed around two warm talismans. The moment he pulled them away, Pandora convulsed violently.

Damian, watching, smirked.

"I'll make sure she's obedient."

No matter how one looked at it, this scene was disturbing.

Damian stood with his arms crossed, watching the exchange between Dean and Pandora with narrowed eyes. The way Dean reached into Pandora's chest and pulled something from within was unsettling. It looked too much like human trafficking.

If someone had been passing by and seen this moment out of context, it would have absolutely raised red flags.

And considering Damian's young age, if he really wanted to report this situation to the authorities, Dean wouldn't even argue—he'd just arrest Pandora himself.

Meanwhile, Pandora's mind was still reeling.

She was lying on the ground, pinned down after the brutal double-team attack from Dean and Damian. Her body still ached from the blow to her head, and now she had lost both of her precious talismans.

But despite her defeat, she refused to give up completely.

She glared up at Dean, her voice hoarse but demanding.

"What do you plan to do with me?" she spat, struggling to regain her composure.

Dean, standing over her, calmly swept aside the scattered firearms on the ground.

He didn't answer right away. Instead, he turned on his heel and began walking toward the alley's exit, waving a hand dismissively as if Pandora wasn't even worth looking at anymore.

"When you tell me everything you know," he finally said, his voice casual, "you can just sit back and be a spectator."

His footsteps echoed as he neared the light at the end of the alleyway.

"To witness a great victory for mankind."

---

As Dean stepped out onto the open street, a shadow passed overhead. Looking up, he immediately spotted the Batwing hovering above.

No wonder Damian arrived so quickly.

Dean had originally assumed that Damian had just been patrolling nearby when he had responded to the sound of gunfire, but that wasn't the case.

The young Robin had flown in. That meant something important. Damian had been given access to the Batwing.

For a moment, Dean stood still, watching the aircraft as it circled before retreating back toward Wayne Manor. He didn't move. He didn't speak. He just thought.

This meant a lot. The Batwing was not something Batman would just hand over to Damian casually. If Damian had the authorization to use it, that meant he had been given more access to the Batcave's database as well.

Which meant that Damian could gather even more classified information.

And if Damian had received increased privileges…

That meant others had too.

A realization clicked in Dean's mind, making him halt in his tracks.

He reversed his thinking.

For a long time, he had been analyzing Batman's actions from the perspective of an outsider looking in—but what if he thought of it differently?

What if he considered things from Batman's perspective instead?

And when he did, suddenly everything became clear.

Dean exhaled slowly.

"Everything… is really going according to your plan, isn't it?"

He ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head.

"I really don't want to be your enemy one day."

---

Deep beneath Gotham, in the Batcave, the Caped Crusader listened.

The words reached his ears, playing at triple speed through his surveillance system.

And then, Batman responded.

"Let's see if there will be such a day."

---

Meanwhile, at Harleen's apartment, Harley Quinn was in absolute ecstasy.

"WOW! The Gotham police sure are efficient! 50,000 bucks in just a few days?! MUAH!"

She snatched a stack of hundred-dollar bills from the table, pressed them against her lips, and began kissing them repeatedly.

Dean, standing across from her, visibly shuddered. His entire body was covered in goosebumps. The moment Harley finished smooching the money, she turned to him with a mischievous grin.

She lunged. She was going to kiss him next.

Dean instantly dodged.

"Harley, stop!" he said, holding up his hands in alarm. "Do you have any idea how filthy banknotes are?! They're dirtier than toilet seats!"

Harley paused mid-lunge, blinking.

Dean continued.

"According to the police database, over 93.4% of all paper money in the U.S. is coated in illegal drug residue. You're basically sucking on someone else's leftover narcotics!"

Harley's expression immediately changed into disgust.

"Oh my god…" she muttered, visibly shivering. "No wonder the drug-sniffing dogs always bark at me when I drive past police checkpoints!"

From the couch, Harleen sat with her arms crossed, watching the scene unfold.

Her voice was calm.

"No," she corrected, "that's just because you actually have drugs hidden in your car."

Harley froze, then she laughed nervously.

"W-What? No way! I hid those so well, no one should've found them! It's totally the money's fault!"

Harley, disturbed by the revelation about the cash, suddenly had an idea.

She grabbed a lighter.

"I... should just burn it."

She lit the flame, preparing to set all the bills on fire. Then she paused. Her eyes landed on Benjamin Franklin's face. Her love for him overpowered her disgust. All of her intent and resolve disappear in the air just like that.

"…Oh, Frankie, baby, I could never hurt you!"

She put the lighter away.

"..."

After that weird scene, Dean and Harleen moved to a cleaner corner of the apartment, a place that was thankfully free of dog poop.

Dean looked around.

"Seriously, don't you two ever clean up after your dogs?"

Harleen's expression remained cold and emotionless. "We built a trebuchet to launch the packaged dog poop from the roof straight into the garbage disposal site. But now that the fourth floor is gone, we don't have anywhere to launch it from. So, for now, we just leave it there."

Dean's eye twitched.

"…A trebuchet? You actually built a trebuchet for that? No wonder the Chief mentioned that people in this neighborhood have been filing complaints about terrorist attacks."

He sighed heavily. "That's actually terrifying."

Dean couldn't help but worry for their neighbors.

Harleen, as usual, saw straight through him.

"You've already paid the bill, so why are you still here?" she asked, her voice flat but sharp. "You're not thinking about forcing us to hand over the Tiger Talisman, are you?"

Then, her gaze darkened slightly, her tone turning teasing but unnervingly direct.

"Or… has my previous behavior made you, a hopeless virgin, start fantasizing about having a 'sister well' experience?"

Dean felt his entire brain short-circuit.

This woman never changed her expression, yet every word that left her mouth was more brazen than the last.

"You didn't say anything before, so I forgot all about it," Dean said quickly, denying everything. "There's no way I'd have thoughts like that!"

Harleen simply tilted her head. "Really?"

She exhaled through her nose, then shrugged.

"That's a shame."

She slowly reached down and started unbuttoning her shirt.

She stopped at the third button.

"Guess I'll have to call Harley over, then."

Her lips curled slightly as she added, "She's not wearing anything underneath, so she doesn't need to unbutton anything at all."

Dean didn't feel any sense of pity or temptation—only suspicion.

Something felt off.

Back when they were in Arkham, Ivy had used burnt pollen to smear Harleen's face. At the time, Harleen didn't react at all.

But now?

Now, the moment she found out that he knew about her and Ivy, she suddenly started trying to seduce him?

That was a red flag.

Dean's eyes narrowed slightly as a realization hit him.

"…Wait a second."

His voice turned serious.

"Harleen. What is your real relationship with Ivy?"

Harleen didn't even hesitate. She met his gaze directly and spoke without an ounce of shame.

"You finally figured it out?" she said coolly. Then, she told him the truth.

"Ivy and I are friends. Besties. Lovers."

Her voice softened.

"We have sex."

"I like Ivy. I love her."

She leaned back slightly, her eyes distant but clear.

"She's the only person who has never thought of Harleen as a fool. She's the only one who truly understood me. Who accepted me."

For a moment, it almost sounded like she was smiling.

"…I used to think she loved me just as much."

Then, her expression darkened.

"But now…?"

"Now I think she doesn't."

Harleen gritted her teeth as she spoke, and at the same time, Dean felt a familiar murderous aura—the same one he sensed when they first met.

It all made sense now. Taking away her wife… or perhaps taking away her husband? No wonder Harleen had always been so hostile toward him.

Dean raised his hands slightly in defense. "Let me make something clear. I have no relationship with Ivy. If anything, we're enemies." He still believed Ivy wouldn't acknowledge him until he returned the Heart of the Forest.

Harleen tilted her head, her long blue hair falling to one side. "Why are you explaining? I never told you to stay away from Ivy. If anything, I'd prefer if you two got together."

As soon as she finished speaking, she quickly licked her lips, a flicker of emotion flashing across her usually cold expression.

"As long as we're together."

Dean's eyes lit up. "You think so too? That's great!"

Harleen paused. What was going on? A moment ago, this little boy looked shy, and now he was grabbing her hand in excitement?

Could it be…?

Was Dean just pretending to play hard to get?

Then, she heard his next words.

"It's not just Ivy," he continued, grinning. "I still have fifty thousand dollars left, which is enough to build another floor. And I still have a few connections—my friends also want to live in this apartment!"

That was Dean's real intention in befriending her. He wanted to use this apartment as a temporary alliance headquarters, leading his own people to station here.

Even though he was comfortable living with the Gordons, there were still a lot of inconveniences. Some things just couldn't be done in a family home, and eventually, conflicts would arise. Dean had already experienced it once.

Besides, with the relationship between Barbara and Bruce, things would only get more complicated in the future. And as Barbara continued to recover, Dean knew there would be even more problems down the line.

Moving out was the only option.

"It'll take some time to repair the house," he explained. "After that, I'll move in here. The fourth floor will still belong to you and Harley, and the fifth floor will be mine."

Harleen crossed her arms. "One more question. Who exactly is moving in?"

Since he planned to operate from here in the future, it was impossible to hide it from Harleen. So, Dean simply told her the truth.

"Penguin, Ocean Lord, Robin. There will be more in the future. They won't all live here, but they'll use this place as a meeting spot."

Harleen stared at him, watching his lips move. For once, she wasn't trying to look cold or detached.

She genuinely didn't know how to react.

"…Oh my god," she finally muttered, rubbing her forehead. "I must be insane for thinking you and Ivy would actually make a good couple."

She felt exhausted.

Dean, on the other hand, looked completely unfazed.

"So, you agree?" he asked.

Harleen rolled her eyes dramatically, but this time, she didn't bother holding back like she did in Arkham. Instead, she stuck out her long pink tongue and sighed.

"I promise you."

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